


galentines

by mlle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Valentine's Day, girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlle/pseuds/mlle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyway, whatever. The point is, before Samwell, Chowder knew naught about girls. And now he knows not naught. Now he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	galentines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frogy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogy/gifts).



> frogy's super fun prompt said, "Chowder hangs out with Farmer and all her friends!" And I just thought that was too sweet to resist.

Before Samwell, Chowder never really thought about girls.

Or, okay, that’s totally not true. He thought about girls, but he never really thought about girls, about the reality of them, about what they liked and how they acted when they weren’t sitting next to him in class or passing him in the hallways of his high school. 

Now Chowder’s been through a semester at Samwell, and he’s gotten a girlfriend and spent lots of time with her. He’s kissed her and held her hand and put his fingers in her back pocket which meant he’s gotten a really good chance to feel her butt. And she’s kissed him and held his hand and put her fingers in his back pocket, giggling the whole time about turning the tables. 

Chowder never thought having a girlfriend meant he’d be the one getting his butt grabbed, but if that’s the toll. He’s, like, more than happy to let it be taken.

Does that make sense?

Anyway, whatever. The point is, before Samwell, Chowder knew naught about girls. And now he knows not naught. Now he knows.

—

Mostly here’s what Chowder knows: girls are rarely alone. 

It’s true that athletes also travel in packs, and Chowder thought for a brief moment—after running over Farmer on the Quad but before they started going out—that her volleyball pack and his hockey pack could mingle. 

Intertwine? Intersperse?

Those aren’t the right words, but the point is Chowder imagined for one hot second the two teams melting or melding or whatever into one big happy sloppy sports fam.

But then—

“No, Dex, they wear uniforms. Like shorts and shirts? And pads. Yeah, elbow and knee. No, not for— ew, man, c’mon, that’s not cool. What, Holster? No, they play in the gym— it’s not beach volleyball. And no, you can’t— ugh, you guys. I am not asking my girlfriend if my teammates can play her teammates in a pick-up game on the beach! Because! I know you guys, you’ll— see!! That’s what I mean! ”

And there went that hot-second dream, right up in flames.

—

Which is how Chowder ends up spending Valentine’s Day with Farmer and about a dozen of her closest friends. 

—

Chowder tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket again, hoping the weird crease has settled. It’s a game day suit—the one Bitty said he looked cute in that one time. The halls of Farmer’s dorm are pretty empty for a Saturday night, and Chowder tugs and bounces from one foot to another, waiting in the space between his knock and an answer. 

Finally, Farmer’s roommate flings the door open. Her eyes flick up and down Chowder’s suit, and he’s just about to reach for the jacket’s hem again when she lets out a low wolf whistle. 

Chowder’s told himself a hundred times that he won’t blush anymore when she does this, but—dang it. “Hey Ashlyn,” he says, feigning coolness.

“Heeey Chris,” she responds in a teasing drawl. She’s still got a hand on the door. “Caitlin’s almost ready. I’d let you in, but,” she tips her head a little to indicate the room behind her.

Chowder can see piles of girl-mess strewn on every surface—clothes, shoes, makeup, a laptop, a box of Cap’n Crunch spilled on a chair, headphones, hair products, several notebooks, and a bio textbook that looks like it spent a while underwater—but just as he’s about to respond, Farmer appears. It’s like everything else falls away. 

She’s wearing a teal dress and tall shoes, with her hair swept up and pinned in some way Chowder can’t figure out. “Hi,” she says with a small smile.

“Hi,” Chowder says back. 

Ashlyn makes a gagging noise, but she also hustles them together into the hallway so she can snap about fifty photos with her phone, then Farmer’s phone, then her phone again. 

“Have fun, be safe, enjoy dinner,” she tells them as they finish the pictures. “I’ll be passed out in front of Netflix by the time you get back. I’ll try to be… hard to wake up.” She exaggerates a wink and pushes them down the hall.

—

The restaurant Farmer chose is kind of fancy, and it’s packed with couples out to celebrate. Chowder and Farmer get seated at a cozy table in the back corner, with a real tablecloth and a little candle.

“I feel bad that Ashlyn doesn’t have plans tonight,” Chowder says after the waiter has taken their order. 

“I feel bad that Tom sucks so bad,” Farmer says in agreement. 

They hold hands until their food comes, chatting easily about nothing. They hold hands again once they’ve eaten dinner and are waiting on a slice of double-decker chocolate rose cake. 

Chowder’s just taken his first bite—syrupy chocolate exploding from the spongy cake in his mouth—when Farmer gets swarmed by friends. 

Ramirez squeals, “Ahhhhh, oh my GOD—” and then the girls descend around the table in a flurry of fancy dresses and little handheld purses.

“Look at this cute couple—“

“Farms, OMG, your dress—“

“Your hair—“

“That cake looks amazing—“

Chowder feels himself blushing again. He tries to smile at them all and say hi, but they’re talking rapid fire to Farmer in what Chowder can only politely describe as Girl Code. Finally, Porter bends down like she’s sitting in a chair that’s not there, leaning in close to Farmer.

“Porter, no, no sorority squat,” Karstens says, tugging on the kneeling girl’s sleeve. “C’mon, we don’t have time.”

Porter whispers something in Farmer’s ear. Chowder can’t make it out, but he thinks he hears the words “Tom” and “dickface.”

Farmer frowns, and then the girls whirl away in a cloud of really awesome-smelling girl perfume.

“Everything okay?” Chowder asks.

Farmer flicks her eyes back to his face and the frown melts away. “Yeah, babe,” she says. Her eyes twinkle in the candlelight. “Just girl stuff.”

Chowder nods sagely. 

—

Before they leave, he orders another slice of cake, to go. “For Ashlyn,” he explains. 

“You are too sweet,” Farmer says, and punctuates it with a kiss. “C’mon, we can distract with her cake and then get some alone time.”

Chowder swears he only jumps a little when she pinches his butt on the way out the door. 

—

It’s Adele that tips him off first. 

Her distinctive belt is echoing down Farmer’s hallway, accompanied by several other, less-perfect-sounding voices. 

“Um,” Farmer says.

She hands him the to-go box so she can unlock her door. It swings open almost in slow motion—to reveal the same mess as before, now compounded by at least ten girls, arrayed all over the room. They’re on every surface: girls on the couch, the chair, the floor, girls standing in a little huddle by the mini-fridge. Girls singing along to the song blaring from the speakers, girls on their phones, girls in pajamas, girls in fancy dresses, girls eating ice cream, girls swigging something from a bottle.

So many girls.

Chowder’s face must be bright, bright pink, he thinks with a cringe. 

“I am so sorry,” Farmer whispers, horror plain in her voice and on her face. 

“Caitlin!” one of the many, many girls shrieks. “Help us! Come help us!” The girl, who Chowder doesn’t even recognize, snags Farmer by the arm and drags her through the front door. “We’re trying to figure out what goes with this huge bottle of glazed donut vodka!”

“So, so sorry,” Farmer keeps mouthing at Chowder.

Chowder bites his lip, to keep from giggling. “It’s okay,” he calls over Adele.

—

It turns out that Ramirez and Porter had the same idea as Chowder and Farmer, except that instead of one slice of cake, their attempt to cheer Ashlyn up includes loud lady-music and “enough alcohol to take down a horse,” as Karstens crows gleefully. 

Which is how Chowder ends up getting fairly drunk and letting Morgan and Samantha paint his toenails bright and sparkling red. 

He keeps aiming himself at the side of the room where Farmer is, and he keeps not quite making it. 

He blames Josie and Kelly and their generous shot pours. 

—

The rest of the night is a raucous girl-filled blur. Not in the way Dex would joke about—but in a way that’s more fun than Chowder would have imagined. It’s not unlike low-key party nights at the Haus. Just, with more talk about Mindy Kaling and less late-night pie.

Across the room, Farmer has taken off her heels but left her dress on and her hair up. Her smile draws Chowder’s attention every few minutes. She’s so pretty. He wants to kiss her.

“I want to kiss her,” he mumbles at some point. 

Someone giggles and someone else pinches his cheek. “You are too adorable, Chris.”

Chowder can’t quite get the coordination to knock the pinching hand away. He’d worry about his pink cheeks again, but it’s definitely a lost cause at this point.

—

Chowder has no clue how many hours have passed, but eventually he notices that the wild party around him has subsided into several piles of drunk, sleeping ladies. 

And just like that, Farmer appears next to him and rests her head on his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” she says through a yawn. 

“Don’t be,” Chowder tells her. He means it. “It was fun!” He means that too.

“I think Ashlyn feels better.”

“I’m glad,” he says. “Did she like her cake?”

“Yeah.” Farmer raises her head. 

She’s really close, Chowder realizes, she’s right there and she’s looking at him really close up, and she’s so, so beautiful. “I’m glad,” Chowder says, with only a bit of a squeak. 

There’s a pause, where Farmer looks around to survey her sleeping friends. “Finally,” she breathes. “I’ve been waiting all night to do this—“ 

She cuts herself off with a deep kiss that Chowder feels himself falling down and down and down into. He can’t tell how long it goes on, and he doesn’t care. It’s the best kiss ever. It’s better than their cake. Better than recording a shutout, better than—

“Awwww,” Ashlyn’s voice coos loudly from behind them. Chowder jumps, totally startled, while Ashlyn goes on. “I think I’m gonna puke.” 

Farmer whips around super quickly. “Are you okay? Too much to drink? Do you need help?”

Ashlyn raises her sleepy head. “No,” she drawls, “I’m gonna puke from how cute you are. Please get a room.”

Chowder ducks his head as Farmer starts giggling next to him. “Oops,” she says. “Let’s—yeah, let’s do that.”

—

It’s not like Chowder is a girl expert. He wouldn’t claim to be. But there are lots of things he knows. Like, no, Dex, girls don’t do that when they’re hanging out alone. Like, it’s important to spend time with your girlfriend’s friends. Like, chocolate cake and glazed donut vodka can help to heal a broken heart.

But not together, Chowder now knows.

Ew.


End file.
